I have a goal.
My goal is to make it through this entire week without having to go to the pediatrician's office.
We went to the doctor's office at least once a week for four straight weeks. (Or was it five?) And during at least two of those weeks, we went twice. Nothing super serious, mostly just to assuage David's and my paranoia. MRSA. A viral rash. Something that looked like MRSA. Another rash. A strep test (negative). A skin lesion (MRSA again?). A rash. That sort of merry-go-round. Nothing life threatening.
But exhausting, nonetheless. So my goal is to avoid the pediatrician's office for a whole week.
And now that I've officially said that, I am also...knock, knock...knocking on wood to protect myself against a jinx. Normally, I might not actually speak the sentiment or write it down for fear of the jinx. It's sort of like we don't speak the "q" word when David is on call. (That's q-u-i-e-t, for those of you unfamiliar with one of David's typical crazy call shift. If you say or use the "q" word, it will automatically negate any tiny little chance that David might have of actually having a q-u-i-e-t night.) You don't want to mess things up. But I'm going to take the chance and put my goal out there for everyone to know.
So that's my goal. William has a bug bite on his nose and a scratch above his right eyebrow. And we're using a special anti-fungal cream for diaper rash that David brought home from the drugstore. So he's not entirely blemish free. But so far, so good. Nothing has necessitated a trip to the doctor. Not yet, she says darkly.
Cross your fingers. And maybe your toes. And just for good measure, don't use the "q" word for the next few days. You know, just as an all-purpose protective charm.